DACMan

There is a certain rawness to the Zion carvings we make in “The Studio”.  While this work has a strong lyrical quality, its beauty is expressed through a gritty honesty, not prettiness. From the chisel marks that show, you can almost feel the coarseness of the rock. This character reminds me both of the wood we used to carve the pieces and the rough textures of nature.

I have tried in my fifty or so trips to Southern Utah to capture this landscape through photography by taking from 50-1000 shots per trip. Never have I been able to touch the sacred beauty of Zion on film, but somehow, I can’t give up trying. Though seemingly impossible, I none-the-less have had to try again to capture Zion by carving its likeness in wood.

Amazingly, these carvings do capture the spirit of Zion, bringing back the beauty and awe of those canyons. Where my photographs have failed, these carving inspire and give me life. They remind me to return again to the places I most love.

I’m tired.  I want and need to sleep but something’s demanding attention now.   I must write about this evening’s delight….

Once in a while I hear music that so fills my heart and soul I need to shout.  I’m the English gentleman who claps politely, even enthusiastically upon occasion, but tonight I am barely able to speak.  I just returned home from dinner at Made’s Warung.  My hoarse voice is partly from joy and partly from shouting (enough to kill it for the evening) in repeated appreciation for the jazz I heard after dinner.

Made’s Warung was the first restaurant/gathering place in Bali for Westerners.  It opened in the ’70′s.  They have good food, great prices and an atmosphere that promotes chatting from table to table.  We went to Made’s Warung II in Seminyak tonight for the above reasons.
Upon entering, I saw the set up for a band and secretly hoped we could eat and be gone before the music began.  I felt this sentiment even stronger when we were seated in the front row at the center table.  I almost asked to be moved to a back corner as it had been a long and extremely hot day.

My day began with an Internet session from 6:30-8:00am, a breakfast meeting from 8:00-9:00am, and a meeting in the hotel lobby from 9:00-10:00am with my two favorite traders.  We haggled over prices for four pieces of excellent tribal art, and then it was off to the first of 10 stores planned for the day.  After a day like today, I was pooped and wanted a short and quiet dinner near my hotel.

Halfway through the first song of the first set, I knew I was in love.  In my 30′s the only music I would see live was jazz.  While I’m not a sophisticated jazz lover, I deeply appreciate a jam that goes deep and wide.

One of the treats of seeing live jazz is witnessing and sharing the joy of the musicians in the creative act.  These people were ON!  The sax player is said to be the best in Indonesia, the vocalist was akin to Ella Fitzgerald with her range, passion and joy, and the pianist was 10 times better than the best I’ve ever seen.  When he really got going, a stage hand would hold one end of the huge electric piano and the vocalist would hold the other end so it wouldn’t collapse from his frenetic playing.  While his fingers blurred from moving so fast and beautifully, I found myself laughing out loud with joy.  When his hands disappeared from moving so fast, I was on my feet screaming.  Well almost.  I am still that English gentleman kind of guy.

The beauty of following a thin line of circumstance is a gift.  The timing of tonight with the choice of restaurants, the table, and letting go of what I thought I knew I wanted (a quiet corner and a quick dinner) and to end up with an extraordinary gift of music and joy is the lesson to be learned and relearned.  What I’m offered in this life is a hundred times better than what I think I want.

Made Bidadari is a good friend, successful businessman, and a bit of a wheeler-dealer in the Japan/Bali circuit.  He will occasionally call me and tell me he’s hungry.  I always laugh and ask, “how hungry?”  Inevitably his response will be “very, very hungry.”  It’s code language for “I want money.”

We both laugh and tease each other about his insatiable hunger.  He’s always hungry but I only agree to meet him if he is having a 50% off sale just to see exactly how hungry he is.  He has some of the best wood that can be found but always at twice the market rate.  He deals primarily with Japanese clients whohave less space in their homes, fewer things, value the best of the best, and will pay top Yen for what they want.  I value the best, but won’t pay top dollar.  When I arrive at his warehouse, he assures me he is nearly starving and needs money for the family ski trip to Japan that night.

“Looking at schools for the kids?” I ask.  “No. They want to ski.  It’s the end of the ski season and bargain time.”  “Okay Made, really, how hungry?  Give me prices on 4 pieces and we’ll see about your hunger.”  He quotes Japanese prices plus 20% to me and I tell him he must have just eaten a feast and is so full he won’t be hungry for months.  Skiing is not hunger and he’s wasting my time.  We carry on saying more outrageous things to each other and laugh and laugh.

I love Made.  He’s fun, innocent, unprotected, and doesn’t hide the game involved in buying and selling.  When he first sees me he runs to me and gives me a huge bear hug.  This is very, very un-Balinese!  He credits me with his success in business from my guidance and major purchases early on and he actually means it.  Too bad I can’t afford his furniture anymore unless, of course, he’s truly hungry.

Today is not my lucky day.  I offer standard, good friend/business prices on 4 tables and he counters with a 10% discount.  I give him a big hug, wish him happy travels, and tell him to call me when his hunger has reached excruciating pain and not before.

I’m more comfortable helping than being helped. I’d rather do favors than ask for favors.  There was a saying when I was growing up, “It’s better to give than to receive.”  For some reason, I’d rather pay for what I get than ask for a boon. Maybe it’s a control thing, maybe I like my dream world, maybe I don’t want to face rejection, and maybe I have a heart of gold.  Maybe God is a 3-toed sloth.

In Bali, I’m like a machine asking for help and guidance. The more involved in the culture I am, the more I need to know. For the most part, however, I don’t even try to understand anymore.  Bali is truly and absolutely incomprehensible to an outsider. I basically need help and need to ask for it almost constantly. If I had a choice, I would avoid asking, but the consequences of doing something the wrong way can be devastating and long lasting.

Right before bedtime
Drinking a glass of water
Can’t wait ’til morning

House gods, guardians
Inside outside every home
Protection or fun?

Forgot my dze bead
My protection from evil
So far I’m Ok

A carving in stone
Or a Bali offering
What does time matter?

I shaved the brown fur
On my chest, now I’m itching
What was I thinking?

God, almost captured
Zion and the Grand Canyon
On the path to truth?

No telephone calls
The world has loosened its grip
A taste of freedom

On my skis again
Ice. I’m wobbly on the trail
A happy rookie

Night is coming on
The ski trail’s disappearing
Worried but not lost

Email and cell phones
Have made life much easier.
I beg to differ

Swallows’ random swoops
Mosquitoes in their death dance
Fewer bites for me

Skiing in the woods
A quick stop to make my mark
Yellow on white snow

The Bali culture
Filled with more mystery than
Mona Lisa’s smile

I grew up thinking
Tigers are soft and fuzzy
Then I heard one roar

If I’d remember
How, I’d be writing haiku
Five, nine, five, or what?

Even Frank Lloyd Wright
Shakespeare, Christ, and Mohammed
Will be forgotten

Trees against the sky
Beautiful, dead or alive
It’s not so with me

Cracked and curled mud
Its cookie cutter pattern
Now melts in the rain

I too will vanish
Like my footprints in the sand
A song forgotten

Don’t make fun of me
“More” is more than my motto
It’s my life’s work

Wood fires and stuffed bears
Olympics are distracting
I’m home and cozy

My to-do lists fill
Seven file cabinets
My new place to dance

We’ve talked about this
Demands seem to claim my time
Thought this was my life

What’s the classic line?
‘Bout each and every snowflake
We are all snowflakes

Repeat and repeat
Are there not infinite paths
Aren’t we all snowflakes

A snowflake’s beauty
Rarely seen, instantly forgotten
We’re mostly like that

Hiking in Zion
Writing haiku in my head
My best, forgotten

I think that snowflakes
Are the near ultimate proof
That there is a God

Stay strong and live long
Why be miserable now?
We have stuff to do

Don’t care where I go
I’m just a dog in a car
let my face fur blow

Don’t know how to think
I’m just a dog in a car
Give me meat and drink

What’s the date today?
I’m just a dog in a car
Can’t hear what you say.

Want you, will you stay
I’m just a dog in a car
What’s your rate of pay?

Luck has come today
I’m just a dog in a car
We will romp and play

Snowy woods fly by
Bardicus eats fresh snow
Sake slurpy’s next

Such engaging work
The Muse is having his way
What is our future?